


I’ve been searching all these years

by phalangine



Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Cats, Getting Together, M/M, a truly unforgivably bad jeopardy clue as some sort of plot device, and by ‘you’ i mean ‘i’, you can’t talk about swords without acknowledging the inherent euphemism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:33:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21939022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phalangine/pseuds/phalangine
Summary: Chas gets the two things he deserves most: a cat and a sword.
Relationships: Chas Chandler/John Constantine
Comments: 7
Kudos: 60





	I’ve been searching all these years

**Author's Note:**

> the biggest heart @ jessicamiriamdrew for the hard work she puts in because she knows me and reads through my nonsense

The outcome of a battle between any human and any angel is predetermined. There isn’t a human being alive who can outfight a creature that defies every law that defines the earth and everything that stands on it.

Chas must know that, but he’s watching the angel with the same unshakable confidence he has when he’s got a gun in his hands.

Manacled by magic, gagged, and out of the fray, John watches them circle each other slowly.

“You’re a human,” the angel reminds Chas. Her voice is kind, her tone warm and soothing. It urges them to forget the sword in her hands. There's a soft white glow around the blade; it could easily fool humans into thinking the sword is shining with heavenly fire. It could have fooled John if he didn’t know that there’s only one angel that carries a flaming sword, and this angel definitely isn’t him.

“So, you have a sword,” the angel is telling him. “It’s quite old, isn’t it? It’s even got a touch of holiness about it. Unfortunately, you’ll need more than that.”

Sometime back, Manny told John that every angel is trained to fight. A remnant of times past, he’d called it. Back when angelic arrivals were announced by trumpets and men trembled at the sight of them.

This angel looks like she could rip down half a city without breaking stride.

Chas is good in a pub brawl. He’s big and carries enough of a temper under his soft flannel shirts that he doesn’t shy from heaving smaller men out of his way.

So he’s fucked.

“It will be a waste for you to die here.” The angel shakes her head. “Unlike your friend, you’re a good man. Why are you defending him? Do you really think it’s worth it just to delay the earth’s inevitable destruction for another week? To protect a man who damned a child?” She looks up at Chas with a benign, almost beatific, expression. “Lay down your sword, Francis Chandler. Survive. I can protect your family from what’s coming. I can free you from Constantine’s messy spell.”

Chas frowns. He tilts his head thoughtfully.

He and John have argued about this. Chas is tired of trekking around the country at all hours. He’s tired of missing his weekends with Geraldine. He’s tired of getting hurt. He’s tired of fighting. He’s tired of surviving.

But he won’t give up. So long as John is out here fighting, he insists on going along.

John has been wearing him down, though. John and the ever-growing pile of broken bodies Chas has to wade through.

John knows Chas better than any other living being on earth; he knows Chas won’t accept the angel’s offer.

He still lets out a breath of relief when Chas says, “Yeah, but I wouldn’t be any better than he is if I let you kill my best friend, wouldn’t I?” He raises one brow at the angel. “I can’t help Astra on my own, and I really don’t trust you.”

”Why?” the angel demands. Her gentle coaxing isn’t working, and she can see it. So she’s ramping up the glow. Her sword is growing too bright to look at, and the light around her head almost looks like a halo.

The edges of the warehouse stay dark, though- if anything, next to the angel’s light, the shadows grow darker.

It’s a good effect; John and Chas can’t look at her without risking their sight, so they have to drop their eyes. 

It’s unfortunate for the angel that Chas doesn’t do the whole “heavenly emissary” thing. He doesn’t even do “heaven”. How he reconciles that with the angels and demons they fight is beyond John, but he has a suspicion it’s directly linked to Chas not liking Manny. It’s difficult to trust a man who likes to pop by and ride around in your body without so much as a hello, John supposes.

Chas lifts his eyes and squints at the angel with an expression that holds the weight of a few thousand years of cultural dubiousness. “Do all angels talk this much without saying anything?”

The angel- John really should have asked Manny what her name is- raises her brows at him. “If you insist.” She shrugs. “Humans sometimes have interesting reasons for doing irrational things. I thought you might have one.”

John grits his teeth through the gag. Even without the difference in strength, this could never be a fair fight. Unlike Chas, the angel doesn’t have to land an actual killing blow to kill Chas. The angelic sword in her hands is a tool of damnation; it’s designed to cleave a human soul from its body.

Chas’ sword is no such thing. As the angel said, it’s barely enchanted. The senior rabbi was wrong. Whatever power it once held, this sword isn’t a weapon any longer; it looks like it will turn to dust the first time Chas swings it.

How can Chas possibly fend off an angel with nothing but that?

 _“Don’t think of us as using our swords to cut humans down. It’s more like… shucking an oyster from its shell,”_ Manny had said back in their motel room. He’d looked almost amused when he found out another angel was after them. _“It doesn’t matter if you stab the shell and rip the meat out or carefully pry the shell open. One method is neater, but the shell comes off regardless.”_

John isn’t sure his spell can protect Chas from that. Maybe a cut will only deprive Chas of one of his extra souls, but the angel’s magic could just as easily identify the correct soul and rip Chas out of his body.

 _Hurry up, Zed,_ John thinks. _Put the bloody spell together and get us out of here._

He’d feel less anxious about what Zed is trying to do if he knew the spell Manny is trying to teach her, but Manny had been firm- Zed alone was allowed to learn the angel banishing spell.

John tries to free his hands again, but the angel bound him in place with the air itself.

“I guess I do have a human reason,” Chas says. “I don’t like you.”

Fury flashes in the angel’s eyes as she shifts her grip on her flaming sword and rushes forward with a cry that makes John’s bones ache.

Chas raises the ancient sword in time to block the strike, but it takes a visible effort to keep the angel from simply shoving her sword down and into him.

As the blades separate then come together again, the room echoes with the ring of metal on metal, the angel slashing and Chas barely fending her off.

He’s going to lose. John can see it. Anyone could. Chas is just a good man, and he’s going up against an inhuman murderer.

Another friend is going to die because of John, and just like Gaz, John is going to bear witness to another friend dying of John’s own failings.

⁂

“You have a cat?” John asks. When he left this morning, Chas was alone in the kitchen. Now Chas is sitting on the couch, decidedly not alone.

Chas scratches his pet’s chin. “Unless the ASPCA pulled one over on me, yeah.”

“Why do you have a cat?”

“I like them.”

John stares at him, willing Chas to elaborate. When Chas fails to, his attention fixed on the cat, John is forced to ask, “Since when? You’ve never mentioned liking them before.”

“The list of things I haven’t gone out of my way to tell you is pretty long, John,” Chas tells him as the cat leans into his hand. “I’ve always liked cats.”

“I don’t think Jasper intended us to make his house into a circus.”

“Then it’s a good thing he doesn’t live here anymore, isn’t it?”

“That’s cold.”

“Didn’t you splash blood on the walls of his bedroom last week? That seems more offensive than having a cat.”

“Mate…”

Chas glares at him. “I’m not sending Reuven back. Either he stays or I leave with him.”

John opens his mouth to point out how excessive that ultimatum is when Zed walks in, spots the cat, and makes a noise John knows means he’s lost the argument, although there wasn’t one to begin with. Chas just surprised him

“This is Reuven?” she asks, clearly addressing Chas. John doesn’t ask why she knew ahead of time; he knows why. “Oh, Chas. He’s even more handsome in person!”

Chas raises his brows at John as Zed slowly holds out her hand for the cat to sniff, and John accepts defeat over something he wasn’t to begin with.

⁂

Reuven, John decides a week after Chas brought home the fourth occupant of Jasper’s house, isn’t so bad. For the most part, John doesn’t even see the cat. He doesn’t knock John’s things off the table or mess with his spells. He seems perfectly content wherever he is, and John is perfectly happy about that.

John could even forget Reuven lives in the mill house if it weren’t for the litter box and cat food in the cupboard.

“You’re all right,” he says when Reuven makes a rare visit to his room.

The cat sits on the floor and blinks at him slowly.

“No idea what that means, mate. I don’t have any food, though. Why don’t you go check with Zed?”

Reuven looks almost frustrated, but he wanders off without making a fuss. Another point in his favor, John thinks. He might start to like Reuven more than Chas and Zed. His human roommates make more of a fuss when they’re annoyed with him.

⁂

It isn’t until they come home from a nasty battle with a group of nymphs who got a taste for human blood that John discovers Reuven’s real purpose.

They’re all in bad shape. Chas took the worst of it as usual; he’s still covered in blood and breaks his own rule about no bloody bodies on the couch. He looks like shit, the dark circles under his eyes from keeping constant watch for a week straight stark against his pale face. He collapses more than sits down.

There isn’t anything to say to him. He just needs time to recover.

It’s unnerving to see him like this, though. Chas is a resilient bloke. He takes things hard for a bit, but he shrugs them off quickly.

John is concerned enough that he’s contemplating the odds of getting the cold shoulder if he tries to talk to Chas when Reuven appears on the back of the couch.

Purring loudly, he heads straight for Chas. He bumps his head against Chas’, nudging at him until Chas mechanically raises a hand and scratches the top of his head.

The purring gets even louder, and Chas closes his eyes and lets his head fall back. The corners of his mouth lift into the fragile beginning of a smile.

Reuven settles himself heavily against Chas, seemingly content to purr and be petted by Chas’ grungy hand, and John leaves them alone with a feeling of relief.

⁂

Chas is sitting outside in the old lawn chair he found Christ knows where, a brush in one hand and Reuven in his lap.

“Having fun?” John asks as he watches Chas struggle to keep his cat from turning grooming into playtime.

“One of us is,” Chas grunts. “And it isn’t me.”

John can’t argue with that. Reuven looks like he’s having the time of his life.

“You aren’t going to offer to help, are you?” Chas asks, his voice hopeful.

“Not on your life,” John tells him cheerfully.

⁂

The peace doesn’t last. Reuven likes Chas more than he likes John and Zed, and it was inevitable that Chas would eventually leave them alone with the cat.

“I’m going to turn him into a toad,” John yells. “A poxy toad!”

Zed sighs. “What is it now?”

“He took my bloody candles. Again! And I can’t find them.”

“Did you leave them on the table?”

John falters. “Yeah.”

“Well, that’s easily in his reach. He’s bored without Chas, and you aren’t keeping him entertained. What else is he supposed to do? It’s not like he can use a laptop.”

She makes a good point- although, she could try to entertain Reuven, too- and John needs to get back to the spell he’s working on anyway, so he lets the subject drop.

It isn’t until he’s on his fifth failure that he realizes Zed’s room was lit with purple candles.

Purple candles John took from the cult masquerading as a church they “attended” in Ohio.

⁂

“You didn’t tell me cats can be taught to fetch things,” John accuses.

Chas drops his overnight bag on the floor with a heavy sigh. “I’ve been home for two minutes, John.”

“Yeah, well, I just spent three days finding out Zed employs your cat as a thief. _Three_ days, Chas.”

“And what did you teach him?”

John frowns. “Teach him?”

“Oh, I figured you would’ve taught him to do something similar to her.” Chas shrugs. “Cats aren’t trainable like dogs, but yeah, if you pick the right sorts of tasks, Reuven could learn to do a lot of things.”

Turning around, Chas tugs his flannel shirt over his head, and John lets himself be briefly distracted by the way Chas’ undershirt rides up his back.

Freed, Chas tosses his shirt into his laundry basket and fixes his shirt. He’s got his belt undone and the button on his jeans popped before he turns around and notices John is still in his room.

“Is there something else?” he asks.

“How’s Renee?”

Snorting, Chas goes back to taking his clothes off. “She’s fine. Got a new boyfriend.”

John winces at Chas’ flat tone. “She’s had a few of them, hasn’t she? You’ve never minded before.”

“She wasn’t dating a hot surgeon before,” Chas grumbles. He hops to get his feet out of his jeans but, annoyed as he is, only manages to get tangled up further.

John sighs and reaches for him, curling his hands around Chas’ upper arms to steady him. “You’re going to fall over and waste a soul because you cracked your skull open trying to undress while angry at an ex.”

He gets a frustrated grunt in reply.

“Just step out like you aren’t angry about your missus riding a richer man.”

“Get fucked,” Chas grumbles. Then, almost as an afterthought, he says, “And she’s my ex-missus.”

“I’d love to, mate, but I’m in the middle of fending off an apocalypse. There just aren’t enough hours in the day to go chasing tottie.”

This time, he gets a huff- Chas trying to pretend he doesn’t want to laugh as he gets back to undressing.

“He may be hot and wealthy, but can her new beau kill a demon?” John continues. He steps away reluctantly, drawn close as he always is by Chas’ warmth, but Chas is finally free of his trousers. “I bet he’s shorter than you are.”

Expression clouding over, Chas shrugs. “Yeah, but he can go to services with her. He isn’t off doing whatever we do, so he can help Geraldine learn to chant Torah. She and Geraldine don’t have to worry he’ll stop coming home.”

He’s getting caught up in his misery. It’s a chronic failing of his- a chronic failing of decent people in general, in John’s experience.

“Well, your daughter won’t be chanting much of anything if the earth gets destroyed by demons.”

“I’ll be sure to tell my ten year old that next time I miss one of her school plays. ‘Sorry, _sheifale, Tate_ had to go save the world with Uncle John so other little girls can have their fathers at their school plays.’ I’m sure that will make her feel great.”

“Sheifale?” John asks rather than touch that wasp nest.

“It’s Yiddish.” Chas shrugs the term of endearment off, unwilling to explain, or maybe just shrugs because he’s moved onto taking his undershirt off.

“Was the lamb responsible for your pants? They’re quite a shade of blue. Eye-searing, you might say.”

“A man whose drawer has as many pairs of white boxer shorts as you have doesn’t get to comment on other people’s clothes.”

“I’m supposed to get blood out without bleach?”

Chas shakes his head. “If you did laundry more often, yeah. We’ve got at least four tubs of OxiClean.”

Here, Chas is back on surer footing. John feels himself relax. There’s nothing as eerie as Chas when he’s uncertain of himself.

Fully intending to commandeer Chas’ bed for the purposes of annoying him out of a depression, John sits on Chas’ bed.

Only to be stopped by an indignant meow and something wriggling around under him.

“Did you just sit on my cat,” Chas asks flatly.

Glancing down, John spots Reuven shooting him a scandalized look from the other end of Chas’ bed.

“I _almost_ sat on your cat,” John tries.

“That’s too close for comfort,” Chas tells him. He makes a shooing motion at John. “Go on. You’ve got your own bed.”

Tempted though he is to argue, if only for the extra time to watch Chas unselfconsciously stand around in just his pants with his arms folded across his chest, John settles for an airy, “Your boxers are too short.”

He doesn’t resent Reuven for ruining his shot at spending more time with Chas. He wants to, but ultimately, he decides it’s beneath him.

⁂

John throws the lavatory door open. “Did your cat cough up a furball in my bed?”

He’s chosen a bad time to reach for the moral high ground. Chas is fresh from the shower, still damp and dressed only in a towel wrapped dangerously loosely around his hips. He looks good. Better than good. He looks like he does when John’s the one in the shower and the only other person in the room comes from his own imagination.

“How would I know?” Chas asks. He’s got one hand on his hip. The other is holding his toothbrush.

John thinks about kissing him.

Thinks about it a little more.

He doesn’t do it, but it’s a nice fantasy. Chas’ warm skin would feel good to John’s cold hands, getting him to drop his toothbrush so he can hold John would be an extra victory, and John would be rewarded with the happy chuckle Chas makes when John’s caught him off-guard with a rare good surprise.

And untying Chas’ towel…

_Too far._

“Well,” John says, forcing himself to focus on Chas’ face, “if you come to my room, I’ll show you the evidence.”

“That’s a new one,” Chas says blandly. “Does that work on all the boys? ‘Tell me if this thing in my bed is a hairball.’”

_“Chas.”_

“What do you want me to do, John? He’s a cat. That happens sometimes.”

“I want you to get rid of it.”

“You slather yourself in pig blood. Get a paper towel and throw it out.”

He turns away, and John is forced to think about the long muscles of Chas’ back and how they’d move if Chas were fucking John.

It’s too hot in here. The steam is still so thick John can feel it when he breathes. No one could think right in this place. 

Mouth dry, John clears his throat. “If you insist.”

“I do, yeah,” Chas tells him.

John nods and backs out.

When he gets to his room, Reuven is playing with one of John’s balls of enchanted yarn.

“This is your fault,” John says as he approaches his bed, one hand holding the required paper towel.

Reuven chirps and bats the yarn under John’s bed.

⁂

None of the lights are on when John gets home. That’s a good sign. It’s three AM, and John doesn’t feel like dealing with anyone’s judgment.

Zed’s getting it on the regular from her copper down in New Orleans, and Chas probably hasn’t slept with anyone since whenever he and Renee last for together.

That’s a thought John doesn’t need.

He found that party for the express purpose of fucking someone who isn’t Chas while not thinking about Chas.

His choice of partner wasn’t the best for forgetting Chas. He can admit that. The bloke wasn’t quite tall enough and a bit too muscular, but he had the right shade of eyes and dark hair long enough for John to grab.

John slips through the mill house and makes it to his bedroom without incident.

Unfortunately, Chas is waiting for him- not awake, but that bodes worse. He must have fallen asleep sitting on the floor with his back propped against John’s bed.

“You’re gonna hate me in the morning,” John tells him. “I did tell you not to wait up, though.”

Ignoring a misplaced twinge of guilt- he got what he wanted, and Chas doesn’t know about it because he wasn’t involved, so it’s almost as if nothing happened- John crawls into bed. He’s worn out enough that he drifts off quickly. If it were up to him, he’d finish falling asleep right then.

It isn’t up to John, though, because Reuven flops down on John’s face.

Spluttering and pushing Reuven away, John is forced back into the waking world, and he isn’t the only one.

Chas is blinking up at him from the ground.

He’s still half asleep, and John wants to kiss his forehead and tell him to go back to sleep. It’s a strange impulse; Chas isn’t the sort who invites doting. He’s the caretaker so John doesn’t have to be. 

“You’re home late,” Chas mumbles. He reaches up and rubs the sleep from his eyes. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Your cat tried to suffocate me, though.”

“He missed you.”

“Yeah, well, he’ll miss me more after he’s smothered me to death.”

Chas sighs. “I’m glad you’re back safe. Zed and I got worried when you were gone so long.” He shakes his head. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

Reuven hops off the bed and follows Chas out of John’s room.

Something significant should have just happened. John can feel it. He doesn’t know what it was supposed to be or why, though, and as he sinks back into his pillow, he doesn’t really care.

⁂

The next time John comes home late after a long evening, Reuven is sitting at the foot of the stairs. He looks up at John with an expression that almost looks hurt.

“Hey, Ven,” John says, holding out a hand to pet him.

Reuven skitters away.

He spends the next three days following John into every room but refusing to let John touch him, and when he finally does allow it, he looks defeated rather than pleased.

Petting him like that feels wrong, so John leaves him alone.

A day later, Reuven unceremoniously jumps onto John’s lap, knocking the spellbook out of John’s hands, but John can’t make himself mind. 

  
  


⁂

Reuven watches John prepare spells from his vantage point on Chas’ shoulder. It’s far from the most unsettling thing the cat does, but John can’t help feeling discomfited by the weight of Reuven’s gaze. There’s more than just intelligence in Reuven’s face; there’s understanding, too. And judgment.

It’s not as if the cat can actually understand what John’s doing or why he has to do it.

John winds up closing and locking any doors and windows the rooms he works in.

Chas shakes his head at John as he always does when John mentions Reuven’s uncanny eyes.

“That’s just how cats look, John,” he says.

Reuven lets out a soft _mrrow_ and rubs his head on Chas. “They come from the desert. They don’t have to blink as much as we do.”

“I’ve been to zoos, mate. I’ve even met other pet cats. There’s something different about this one.”

Chas shakes his head. “He’s just a cat, John.”

Reuven comes trotting into the room as Chas is saying that. He looks at John and Chas for a moment, then sits down and lifts his leg as he sets about washing himself.

“Very weird,” Chas says dryly.

John lets the conversation drop, but he could swear Reuven gives him a knowing look over his hip.

⁂

“So,” Zed says as she slides onto the couch next to John, “you _do_ like cats.”

Reuven twists his head to look at her and chirrup. 

Zed obligingly strokes his cheek. 

John waits for her to look back up at him before he says, “Never said I didn’t.”

“You looked at Reuven like you thought he was going to ruin your life when Chas first brought him home.”

She’s right but for the wrong reason. “We’ve got all sorts of arcane things in here. An animal could get into all sorts of trouble- the humans living here certainly can’t seem to stop endangering themselves, and we have the power of the alphabet and speech.”

“I’m sorry- are you blaming me for eating that cursed cake you made? Because you really shouldn’t have left it on the kitchen counter unlabeled. It looked like something Chas would make when Geraldine is mad at him.”

“That’s where I got my inspiration.”

Zed shakes her head, but she smiles as she does. “I really didn’t take you for an animal person at all.”

“My lifestyle isn’t very conducive to having a pet,” John reminds her. “I’ve always liked cats, though. They’re plenty friendly if you don’t bother them- they domesticated themselves, you know. How many other animals are smart enough to do that?”

“So they’re like you, huh?”

“Actually, I can drink as much milk as I like.”

She rolls her eyes, and John knows he won this round.

Between them, Reuven meows plaintively, drawing their attention back to him and all the petting they aren’t doing.

“You know,” Zed says slowly, “Reuven kind of reminds me of someone.”

It’s no great leap to guess who.

“Zed,” John warns.

“Friendly, likes company but doesn’t need it, bigger than he ought to be, and, oh yeah, follows you everywhere- that doesn’t sound like Chas to you?”

“Chas doesn’t smack me when he wants attention.”

“No, he just starts cleaning car parts in the house. I mean, why work outside by the car when he could bring things down one at a time, stink up the house with grease, then go all the way back up again?” She rolls her eyes. “Are you really not going to do anything about it?”

“Do anything about what? The polishing? Since when does Chas listen to me about cars?”

Zed gives him a look that says she knows exactly what he’s doing, but she lets the subject drop in favor of cooing at Reuven.

⁂

  
  


Chas is sitting at the kitchen table. He’s got a cloth wrapped around his left hand, soaking up the blood from his slashed palm. His right hand is stroking Reuven, who’s perched on his lap.

“How’s the hand?” John asks on his way to the fridge. 

“It’s been better.”

John fishes the orange juice out from behind a pitcher of something he hopes is supposed to be that shade of green and turns to grab a cup.

“I’m surprised your response to a knife being thrown at you was to try to catch it,” he tells Chas as he searches for his designated cup. It isn’t at the front of the cabinet, which is as far as his due diligence reaches, so he takes the ugly novelty mug Renee gave Chas on his first birthday after the divorce. “Not as surprised as the _draugr,_ though.”

Reuven watches John join Chas at the table. He doesn’t make any attempt at leaving Chas’ lap, but he does watch John with his knowing green eyes.

“I don’t know why I did that,” Chas sighs. “It’s going to take ages to heal.”

John nods around a swallow of juice. Chas’ rate of healing varies. A couple broken bones in his foot can take half a day to realign themselves or they might take half an hour. There’s no clear rule.

Part of John worries that the discrepancy might be due to the spell breaking down. He doesn’t remember Chas healing slowly in the past, but after the last two or three deaths…

“Zed needs some things from the city,” Chas says, breaking through John’s melancholy. “If you need anything, write it down for me. I’m leaving in an hour.”

Reuven lets out an unhappy meow, and Chas kisses the cat’s forehead.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

John watches Reuven reach up a paw and bat at Chas’ face. He must not do it hard because Chas snorts.

“Yeah, yeah. You want me to stay. We need food, though. John and Zed will look after you.”

He says that too confidently. John can’t be counted on to look after anything, much less Chas’ beloved pet.

⁂

_“There’s something in Manhattan.”_

John exchanges looks with Zed.

“There’s lots of things in Manhattan,” he points out, raising his voice to compensate for having Chas on speakerphone. “Can you be more specific?”

_“Renee’s rabbi saw someone’s head explode.”_

“I hate to say this,” Zed says, actually looking like she hates what she’s about to say, “but it _is_ New York City and explosive bullets have been around for a while…”

_“She saw a woman in a black dress reach out toward someone she’d been arguing with, and a moment later, the guy’s head burst open.”_

Zed bites her lip. “John?”

“Did you feel something?” John asks. He knows Zed is wary of cities right now and doesn’t begrudge her being wary, but he knows how to read between Chas’ lines. “You must have gone to where it happened. Did you get a feeling from it?”

 _“Yeah,”_ Chas says after a moment. _“Yeah, I did.”_

John shakes his head at Zed. “We’ll be there tomorrow. You shouldn’t be in trouble, but keep an eye on Geraldine.”

_“That was the plan.”_

They say quick goodbyes before they hang up.

“You want to know why I said we’d be up when he’s given us so little,” John preempts her.

“No, I know why we’re going. I’m just curious why asked about him feeling something.”

Scratching at his jaw and wincing at the sound- he’s overdue for a shave- John considers how to explain a language to Zed that John himself doesn’t fully understand.

Ultimately, he settles on, “Chas doesn’t have any feel for magic. He’s spent long enough with me to notice signs of it, but at the end of the day, if you don’t tell him there’s magic around him, he won’t notice it. For something to be strong enough to make him notice, it’s big and it’s evil.”

Zed gives him a curious look look. “And he’s always right? Or is it because being unable to sense magic means his bad feelings are more trustworthy?”

“Because Chas is scared and admitting to it,” John tells her. “Chas doesn’t do fear. He gets angry and he breaks things, but he doesn’t ask me to come to him if he isn’t pants-shittingly terrified.”

Nodding, Zed gets to her feet. “I’ll pack Reuven’s travel bag.”

From the floor by John’s leg, Reuven meows loudly.

“You’re going to be a pain in the arse about this, aren’t you?” John asks.

The meow he gets in response is too quiet, and John doesn’t linger longer.

⁂

The series of events that led to John being tied to a chair this time weren’t as fun as he would have liked.

First, Chas’ rabbi, a slight woman in her fifties with smile lines around her mouth and a look in her eye that said she'd take on the monster if they failed, informed them the congregation’s senior rabbi had gone to get something he thought could help.

She also mentioned and that Chas has been looking better lately. “It’s a sad thing for a marriage to end as theirs did, but divorcing gave Chas and Renee the opportunity to find the happiness they couldn’t find together anymore, and Geraldine is happier with parents who don’t argue and resent each other,” she’d said with a pointed look at John. “I’d worried about Chas and his lack of interest in trying to make any new connections, but I suppose I can see why now.”

John isn’t reading into that.

Second, Chas went on his own to find the senior rabbi and the relic while John and Zed returned to the street where the monster appeared to look for something that might trigger a vision, only for Manny to intercept them on the way there. He’d had his usual grim expression as he explained this was the work of another fallen angel looking to destroy mankind. Manny couldn’t find her, of course. That would have been helpful. All he had was a general area she would be in and a complicated spell that could send her away from earth. John was sent off to investigate the docks; Manny took Zed with him to gather what she’d need to cast the banishing spell they’d need because Manny “can’t do everything”.

Third, John found out the angel had enlisted human help. The man did most of the legwork to get the humans she wanted to manipulate in line- difficult to miss it when a man hits you in the head with a shovel and drags you to a chair in a warehouse.

And now, John is here, tied up with magic and gagged, frozen in place with no escape as an angel steps gracefully across the warehouse.

She comes to a stop in front of him, her eyes narrowed. She’s pretty- round brown eyes, waves of blonde hair cut close to her skull like a Renaissance cherub’s, and soft-looking lips.

John has yet to meet an ugly angel. He might be more impressed with this one’s beauty if the others weren’t just as attractive.

Less attractive is the knowledge that the angel’s going to start her torturous monologue any moment now. John can see it in her eyes. Monsters all share the same failing- they like to hear themselves talk. Somehow, John always winds up being their captive audience.

“I really don’t see what’s so interesting about humans,” this one begins.

 _Cliché already,_ John thinks tiredly. He’s heard this speech more times than he’s heard the Kars4Kids jingle.

“You haven’t done anything interesting since you invented the wheel, and even that wasn’t very exciting. It took you forever to figure it out, too.” She shakes her head as if that were John’s personal error. “Millennia of being your custodians, of watching over you and protecting you- for what? Would you assign all of humanity to look after a hill of ants?”

Unable to speak, John settles for rolling his eyes.

“Oh, that’s right. You can’t talk. If you were meant to have magic, you wouldn’t need to speak to use it. But you’re just a human man wielding a blade you can neither see nor lift.” She sighs. “You’re the best hope humanity has, and look at you. Defeated already. You didn’t even put up a fight.”

She raises a hand, and magic visibly gathers around her fingers. John thinks longingly of the dinner Chas promised to cook him when they got back to the mill house.

_Sorry, mate. Gonna need a rain check on dinner._

⁂

Reuven plants his paws right in the middle of John’s belly. He isn’t paying any attention to John; he’s too interested in something past John, the cat’s full weight quickly shifting off John and onto the back of the sofa.

Turning toward the kitchen, John yells, “Chas, your cat’s attacking me.”

“Did you leave your lunch lying around again?” Chas tells back.

John looks up just in time to see Reuven wolf down the last of John’s tuna sandwich.

As if he knows John is about to tattle on him, Reuven delicately hops down. He curls up on John’s chest, the picture of innocence.

John considers the situation for a moment, then yells at Chas to forget it.

Reuven blinks at him slowly.

⁂

The warehouse door flies open, the crack of the handle slamming into the wall startling both John and the angel.

A man steps through the doorway, out of the darkness and into the weak light. Clasped in one hand is a short sword. Its blade doesn’t catch the light.

“Who are you?” the angel asks. She doesn’t lower her hand. “What do you want?”

“That’s my best friend,” Chas tells her, the point of the sword aimed at her, “and I’m here to tell you not to murder him.”

⁂

Reuven has been staring at the same spot on the wall for an hour. It’s giving John a bad feeling.

“What’s he looking at?” he asks Chas.

Chas shrugs. “Who knows? He probably hears something we don’t. There might be a mouse in the walls. Or maybe he’s just being a cat.”

He sounds so confident, John doesn’t want to tell him that the stretch of wall Reuven is staring at has a seal on it hidden behind a bookcase. John can feel the steady beat of the sealed magic pulsing like a second heartbeat. Steady but distinct from John’s, it sometimes wakes John in the middle of the night with a tightness in his throat as if something is pressing down on his windpipe.

This stretch of the wall always seems to repel Reuven, and John doesn’t blame him.

He’s never seen Reuven do this, though. He’s never seen Reuven regard the wall as if he can hear something moving on the other side. 

Any mice in the walls are long dead. The same can’t be said for whatever Jasper sealed in with them.

⁂

The angel stands up quickly, but John can see that it isn’t fear or surprise that has her moving like that.

She reaches out and pulls a sword from the air. Its blade is as long as John’s arm.

“You’re a human,” she tells Chas warmly, and John knows their survival is in Zed’s hands.

⁂

John takes to watching telly with Reuven on his lap.

“Let’s see how they’re doing on _Jeopardy!”_ he suggests to Reuven one night. Without any impending doom or other company, they’ve been aimlessly channel surfing, but John landed on Jeopardy! just in time to catch the final question.

_“The category is religion, and now, the answer. This figure in the Bible is known for being especially long-lived and for being an ancestor of Noah. Be careful not to confuse him with a Greek woman.”_

“That’s piss-easy,” John grumbles as the countdown song plays and the contestants look fretfully at their answers. “If any of them get this wrong, they deserve to lose.”

_“And now let’s check in with our contestants. In third place is Karen, who has $2300. Who did you choose, Karen? You’re shaking your head, and I’m afraid you did guess incorrectly. We aren’t looking for Lamech. And your wager is…”_

⁂

Chas and the angel have been fighting their one-sided battle for long enough that the corners of John’s mouth are raw from fighting the gag when something lands heavily on John’s shoulder. The brush of soft fur against his ear tells him what it is.

 _Who_ it is.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he mumbles around the gag.

He gets a firm _mrrow_ in reply. It’s the same sound John hears when he catches the cat on his bed and tells him to get up.

Reuven hops off John’s shoulder breath later.

“Don’t,” John tries. The cat can’t understand him, but John owes it to Chas to try. “You can’t save him.”

He knows the cat hears him, but Reuven, ever contrary, takes off toward Chas and the angel.

John watches the cat’s familiar body become a yellow blur as Reuven gathers speed, streaking directly toward the melee.

The angel lands a blow hard enough to knock Chas to his knees. He shouts as he does; the sound echoes through the empty building.

That’s when the walls begin to shake.

⁂

Alex Trebek turns to the person farthest from the audience. _“Currently in second place is our returning champion, Piotr. Who did you name, Piotr? Oh, you didn’t come up with an answer, but you didn’t wager anything, so you’re still in the game, depending on our first place contestant’s answer…”_

⁂

John has a moment to think, _Don’t let this end how it always does,_ in the time it takes Reuven to jump off his shoulder and reach Chas.

He hops up and lands delicately on Chas’ shoulder.

The shaking gets stronger.

The angel swings her sword down with a cry. It connects with the one Chas is struggling to hold, and in the moment they collide, Chas’ sword flashes. The blade catches the light like silver

A sound like a clap of thunder erupts, and the angel’s sword bounces off Chas’ hard enough to send her reeling back.

She drops it before she’s righted herself. She glances at the ground where it lands warily.

Raising her eyes to Chas, she snaps, “You can’t have that. You can’t have that,” she repeats, her voice rising. “That isn’t yours to wield!”

Reuven chatters from his perch on Chas’ shoulder as Chas drags himself upright.

John watches him stare down the angel.

“I’ll try to remember that,” Chas tells her dryly.

He takes a step to the side, then takes a step forward and, for the first time in the fight, swings his sword first. As it cuts through the air, the sword darkens again.

John’s heartbeat roars in his ears. The angel snatches her blade just in time to block. The blades crash together and lock, the angel’s might somehow stymied by Chas’ human weight.

Chas leans into his sword, and without a sound beyond the frantic shaking of the walls, his sword slices through the angel’s.

She manages to dodge, but all three of them watch the heavenly blade hit the floor. In its place, molten metal flows onto the ground.

The walls fall still.

⁂

_“And now, in first place, Siobhan. Who did you come up with? You’ve gone with Enoch. I’m afraid not. And your wager? Two thousand dollars. That takes you down to-”_

“It’s Methuselah,” John groans. “The Greek woman in the clue is Medusa. _You_ could have gotten that right, Ven.”

At the sound of his name, Reuven looks up at John, and for a moment, the look in his eyes is eerily knowing.

 _Yeah,_ it says. _Yeah, I could have answered the question correctly._

Heavy footsteps on the stairs signal Chas’ return home, and Reuven runs off to greet him, the metal tags on his collar jingling merrily.

⁂

The angel looks at Chas with wide eyes. “Methuselah’s sword can’t do that.”

“Yeah,” Chas says, looking equally surprised, “but it did.”

She shakes her head, but John gets the feeling she isn’t hearing Chas. “What did you do to it? It was mere iron when it was taken from him. Even in his hands, it couldn’t have done this…”

“Maybe it doesn’t like angels,” Chas suggests. “I could understand if it didn’t.”

From his perch on Chas’ shoulders, Reuven chatters again. His tail lashes through the air behind Chas’ back.

The angel looks between them, and her expression shifts back into anger. “Of course. The cat.”

In unison, Chas and John echo, “The cat?”

The angel nods. “The cat.” Stepping back, she drops the hilt of her sword. “I’m not in the habit of fighting battles I can’t win, but I’m not the only one who knows humans are unworthy. The next one won’t be taken by surprise.”

Her wings snap out, and before Chas can swing his sword, she launches herself up through the roof and disappears.

Chas tilts his head back and surveys the hole she left for a long moment. Reuven, having done what he cane to do, hops down and trots over to John. He turns to give Chas a reproachful look for not follow, and when he finally looks over, Chas shakes his head and walks over to join them.

“I’m not sure I want to take the gag out first,” he says conversationally. He does take it out first, though. John expects him to say they have to wait for Zed, but he just sighs and a moment later, John’s arms are freed.

He looks down at his legs just in time to see Chas carefully slip the point of the sword through the magical bindings.

“That’s a neat trick,” John says as he rolls his newly-freed joints. Chas comes back around to face him, and John can’t help but notice how drawn he looks. Rather than ask about something that probably has a long explanation, John asks, “The rabbi had the sword?”

“His daughter did. She lives in another neighborhood, which is why it took me so long to get here.”

“And she really just handed it over?”

Chas gives him a flat look.

“I’ll take that as a no. You got hold of it in the end, though, didn’t you? And you got it to work. That’s what counts.”

“We should call Zed and let her know she can stop trying to cast that spell,” Chas says instead of answering John’s implied question.

He walks away and does just that.

John looks down at Reuven, whose eyes are trained on Chas. He looks worried, and John instinctively doesn’t like that.

⁂

Somehow, John winds up holding the sword as Chas drives them to the motel. Zed’s promised to meet them there, and Chas looks so tired that John knows they won’t be leaving tonight.

He’s more than exhausted. John hasn’t seen him like this before, and the foreboding that’s been growing since Chas freed him only seems to be growing more justified.

“What’s the engraving say?” he asks. He’s been curious since Chas handed him the sword. It’s Hebrew; John can tell that much. He’s always memorized spells and key words by sound or had the sounds written out. The four marks on the blade mean nothing to him.

“It’s the ineffable name,” Chas says. Even his voice sounds weak. “It was engraved on Methuselah’s sword.”

John nods and rubs his fingers over the engraving. “So the angel was right.”

“Maybe.”

“You don’t believe it?”

“I don’t think it matters.”

John feels his eyebrows shoot up, and Chas sighs.

“Fine. It matters, but it doesn’t change anything. It should be a relic that’s kept safe in a place where people can go see it. Even if it’s just a sword… It’s meaningful.”

“Instead of that, you’re the only one who gets to use it,” John finishes.

Chas nods.

He isn’t wrong exactly, but he isn’t right either.

“I don’t think using it to fight an angel is selfish, mate,” John points out. “It’s not as if you’re hiding it away somewhere because you don’t want to share it. You’re making use of it.”

“And if it gets broken?” Chas counters. “Or a demon steals it? It isn’t just a sword, John. It’s a relic. It won’t come back to me if I lose it. It won’t fix itself because I want it to.”

_Ah._

“The moment that rabbi gave it to you, it stopped being a relic, mate,” John reminds him as gently as he can. “It’s a weapon now, just like it was when Methuselah had it. Weapons break. Do you think Methuselah would want his sword to stay unbroken because it’s sitting unused in a museum somewhere- if they’d take it as genuine, which is a rather large if- while people get hurt?”

Chas doesn’t answer.

“If I had a magic sword, I’d want someone to use it like you did today.” John is going to be manipulative, but he’s never been above that. “What happened to ‘Justice, justice, you shall pursue’, huh? This thing can frighten a bloody angel. What’s just about not swinging it at some?”

From the front passenger seat, Reuven meows, and Chas takes a hand off the wheel to scratch his chin, and Reuven closes his eyes and begins to purr.

Without looking back, Chas quietly says, “Maybe you have a point.”

“Of course I have a point. I always have a point.”

“No, you don’t.”

He’s right, but John can hear Chas’ voice returning to its usual near-drawl, so he keeps poking at him until he sees Chas roll his eyes in the rear view mirror.

⁂

The first thing John and Chas do after they get back to the mill house is go looking for a sheath for Chas’ once again unimpressive blade. Zed tries to join them, but whatever she was trying to do with Manny to get the spell to work was too much for her.

She looks like shite, and John tells her so.

She gives in too quickly to their orders to lie down, which makes John’s gut twist sharply. Zed doesn’t let them boss her around. Manny may have pushed her too hard, too fast.

Manny definitely pushed her too far, too fast.

John and Chas leave her curled up on the sofa with Reuven.

Without her, going through Jasper’s things becomes an even greater task. The number of rooms Jasper filed with magical items is greater than John can count on the fingers of both hands.

Chas still isn’t entirely himself, but John manages to get a few eye rolls and even a reluctant bark of laughter at one especially cracking impression of Ritchie.

Reuven rejoins them eventually. He finds a spot roughly Chas’ height and settles in, his eyes falling half-shut as they continue to rummage through the latest of Jasper’s cluttered rooms.

It’s comfortable the way working with Chas when he isn’t angry always is. John gets to take the lead, with Chas asking questions and getting in occasional digs when it suits him. They have a good rhythm, and despite wanting to take nap, John doesn’t mind joining in.

It’s hot work, though- Jasper’s collection of things includes a good deal of heavy chests on top of heavy chests and more than one suit of armor- and before long, they’re both sweating and stripping off their shirts.

John tries to concentrate on looking for something to keep Methuselah’s sword in, but he keeps getting distracted by the way Chas’ jeans are slipping lower and lower while his shirt is riding higher and higher.

He’d let himself just enjoy the sight while pretending to work, but Chas keeps glancing over at him.

John assumes he’s about to get called out for not helping, but Chas doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t really even look at John properly. He just seems to be drawn to look at John periodically, and when he finds John already looking at him, he drops his eyes to the mountain of magical equipment they’re sorting through.

It’s pure luck that John decides to nudge something with his foot and unearth a sheath.

Jasper helpfully labeled it “Unbreakable??” which seems like a good sign.

“I think I’ve got something that can take your sword, mate.”

Chas straightens up quickly, and if John were a more honest person, he’d assume Chas was merely excited about finally having something to protect his culturally significant weapon.

As he isn’t an honest person, John notices the flush on Chas’ cheeks and the way his eyes skitter away from John.

John should let it go, but he’s tired. He wants Chas, and he wants to have something good. He hasn’t kept quiet out of concern that Chas would take it the wrong way or that it would ruin their friendship. They’ve made it this far. Chas has seen every grungy part of John, and he’s still here. John wanting to kiss him won’t upset him. Chas not wanting to kiss him wouldn't even be a problem. John wants lots of things from Chas, and Chas has years of experience telling him to fuck off.

No, the trouble is Chas not wanting to kiss him and feeling bad about it.

_Fuck it._

“Before I give this to you,” John tells him, “I want you to know that I’ve been trying to get you to fuck me since the day we met. We’ve spent most of today talking about where you should put your ‘sword’. The obvious answer is in me.”

Chas blinks at him. “The obvious answer?”

John feels a wave of regret gather in his belly. “Why is that the part you’re latching onto?”

“Because the other option is thinking that we’ve wanted to fuck each other since we met and took twenty years to realize it,” Chas snaps. “And that one won’t work. It’s too short.”

He goes back to sorting through Jasper’s collection of magical items but with more rigor.

John watches him and wonders at the mysteries that lurk in Chas’ psyche that make him do things like react to finding out they want to fuck each other by playing with a box labeled “Dangerous But Fake Necronomicons”.

“Chas.”

Chas pauses and looks over at John. “What?”

“We want to fuck each other.”

“And?”

“Why aren’t we?”

Chas frowns. “Because we never do?”

It’s an established fact that Chas follows where John leads. When John holds out his hand, Chas takes it. When John tugs on Chas’ belt loops, Chas steps closer. When John stretches up to kiss him, Chas bends down to meet him.

When John pushes Chas’ shirt up over his head, Chas yanks on John’s.

John unzips Chas’ jeans and gets to his knees.

And Chas does the same, his eyes fixed on John’s face as John runs his fingers through Chas’ hair and tries not to worry this will be the only chance he gets.

By the time Chas has moved onto sucking marks along John’s belly, Reuven has disappeared and John is weighing the merits of grabbing lube and coming back here versus bringing Chas to John’s room, locking the door, and doing this right.

Bringing Chas to John’s bedroom would be faster, so that’s what John does.

⁂

“So why did Reuven make the sword better?” John asks. Chas is lying on his back in John’s bed, naked and sweaty and warm. John is draped comfortably over him, equally naked and sweaty but already feeling cold. He doesn’t really care about the answer to the question right now. He just wants Chas to talk to him.

Chas hums thoughtfully. “Cats make everything better?”

“Hmm. That seems plausible.”

John gets a snort in reply, but Chas lays one of his hands on John’s back, petting him with long, gentle strokes, which makes it fine.

“You’re warm,” John tells him.

“You want me to grab a blanket for you?”

“If you could.”

He has to shift John a little to do it, but Chas does retrieve one of the blankets they shoved to the floor earlier and arranges it over John.

He doesn’t have to be asked to keep touching John.

This is good. They had good sex, Chas is a good cuddler, and John feels like he’s in another world, one that’s entirely removed from plotting angels and demons and the threat of an apocalypse. He can stay here for a while- not indefinitely, even though he’d like to, but he can stay until they need to get up, and Chas will stay with him.

Shifting, John tilts his head for a kiss, and Chas smiles against his lips.

“We’re doing this again, right?” John asks. He kisses Chas again before he gets an answer, and Chas shifts under him, one of his legs sliding along John’s.

“We’re this again,” Chas says. He lightly runs his fingers down John’s back, and John knows what Chas is going to do before Chas does it.

That doesn’t stop his breath from catching when Chas flexes his fingers around John’s ass.

“I didn’t mean right now,” John points out. “I like how you think, though.”

Chas kisses him. “That’s good.”

“Give me a little while in the lav and we could really-”

“I want to keep you here a little while longer,” Chas tells John’s neck. His beard tickles, and John squirms, which only makes Chas’ grab his ass harder. “Maybe next time?”

Swallowing hard, John nods. “Maybe next time.”

It isn’t the next time, but the time after that is in a motel room after John’s been hard up for three weeks and had two hours to kill while Chas was off doing something to help save the world.

John’s legs are already sore when Chas finally lets them down, but it’s hard to mind when he just came and Chas is slowly kissing his neck.

He’ll mind later. It’s a long drive from Iowa to Georgia, and the cab isn’t big enough to lie down in. For now, though, John is comfortable with his arms around Chas’ waist and the sound of Chas’ steady breaths.


End file.
